Holy... sorry this took so long guys. I've had this written for... forever, but I hated the ending didn't want to publish it until I came up with a better one... so I did.
Fast Cars and Freedom
Then You Stand
Part 4: Stand
'I hope you never look back, but you never forget,
all the ones who love you, and the place you left,
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,
and you help somebody every chance you get,
Oh, you find God's grace, in every mistake,
and always give more than you take.'
Sally was a little surprised when Arial asked her to come down to the V8. The girl rarely, if ever, asked anything of her mother, especially when she knew Garon was in a bad mood. But tonight she had, and she found Arial not in her normal seat in front of the cafe surrounded by her "family," the family Lightning had built, but in the back at a small table with an unreadable expression forcibly glued on her face.
Her thirteenth birthday had been more than either could have hoped for. Ramone and Angel had repainted Christine dark blue, almost black, with white and blue lightning arcing from the hood and down the sides and had gotten Doc to help them install a new, souped up engine into her. Sally had thought that was going a little far, especially when she spotted the names Lighting McQueen and Hudson Hornet expertly hidden within the lightning splay, but remained silent about it. Arial had just been thankful she had not noticed, among other things, the two sets of race number expertly etched into several faces on and in the car.
Flo, Lizzie, and the twins (who had come to visit Radiator Springs almost twenty years ago and never left) made her a cake the size (and shape) of a small car. It was all Sally could do not to laugh when she realized it was modeled after Doc's old Buick.
Sarge, much to Sally's horror and Doc's utter bemusement, gave her a new paintball gun, fully loaded, ready to use with a promise to convert part of his boot camp into a shooting range. While Sally was busy arguing with Arial over what she would be doing with the new weapon, Sarge quietly slipped a loaded .44 to Doc with a grim smile. "You're taking a big chance," he'd warned, just loud enough for Arial to hear as she wandered back over, "I hope you're ready for what could happen." Fillmore, with a laugh, counteracted his "war-crazed neighbor" with something that caused Sally an equal amount of distress, though for an entirely different reason: a pair of white and black kittens. The sight of them alone had sent Arial into a near-euphoric state. It was not until later that Fillmore rather gleefully told Arial that the kittens were Sarge's idea, and thus just as much his gift as the hippie's, which ultimately resulted in Arial, apparently randomly, hugging war vet around the neck and kissing him on the cheek.
Mater brought her a pile of comic books that were probably as tall as she was when not split into separate stacks, and, slipped into the pages, were dozens of picture and newspaper clippings about Lightning and Doc's racing careers. Upon finding one, Arial had very nearly tackled Mater to the ground in delight.
Sheriff, trying to conceal a grin and failing miserably, presented her with a new pendant, a locket with a lightning bolt etched into it that held a picture of Lightning and Sally's wedding day on one side and Doc standing in front of his prized race car on the other. By this point, Sally had been close to shouting, and she had not even noticed half of the hints the others were dropping.
Red's gift, much to Sally's surprise, had left Arial speechless, one of his prized flowers, an Indian Lotus. It was one of the plants Lightning had given him in apology for destroying his flowers when he first came crashing through town.
The last gift, Sally's, had nearly brought Arial to tears. After her arm had been burned, Doc had, in no uncertainty, said she would probably never be able to use that arm again. The burning had be too extensive. More out of wishful thinking than anything, Doc had found an old, 32 string harp in his garage, not that he could remember where it had come from in the first place, and given Arial the challenge of learning how to play it. Six years, a lot of frustrated tears, and even more work later, Doc could not believe what had happened. Sally's gift had been a full-sized dark redwood gothic harp custom etched with lotus vines climbing up its sides and the lyrics of 'My Wish' etched into the back.
"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Sally asked, seeing the glazed look in her daughter's eyes, "Arial, baby, what is it?"
"I..." Arial closed her sky blue eyes, "Mom..." Without another word, she slid the papers under her hands across the table, then sat back and stared at the shaking hands.
"Arial... What is this?"
...They're adoption papers, Mom."
"You can't possibly be serious about this, Sally."
"And why not? Arial needs a father, one that isn't going to treat her like she's the daughter of some famous racer."
"But she is, Sally, and the whole world's going to grow up knowing about him. Do you really think you can keep that a secret from her forever?"
"I'm going to try."
"Has he hit you yet?"
"Doc!"
"What about her? What if he hurts her, Sally? You think that's what Lightning would want?"
"He wouldn't-!"
"If I see so much as an errant bruise on that girl, Sally, I swear to you I'll have her taken from you."
"Oil, Sally! Hot fucking oil! I could see the bone in her arm!"
"It was an accident, Doc!"
"How much longer are you going to keep lying to yourself? Your daughter, Lightning's daughter, is never going to be able to use her arm again! She's six, Sally! Dear God, what else do I need to tell you?"
"Sixteen broken bones, three hundred fifty-two stitches, five hundred bruises, a burn that very nearly destroyed her ability to use her left arm, not to mention the mental trauma. She's got more injuries at thirteen than I've had in my life! How much more evidence do you need? How many times do we have to go through this? If you don't let her out now, Sally, I'll take her out!"
"I need out, Mom."
Tears sprang to Sally's eyes as she gazed at her daughter, studying the not-quite-there bruise on her cheek, the scrapes and bumps, the stitched cut over her eyebrow, the gruesome burn that ran from shoulder to fingertips on her left arm. Even closed, Sally could still see the life in Arial's eyes, wild and blazing and so full of love and light, just like Lightning, and so close to breaking.
"That's the difference between you and her, Sally. He's broken your heart and broken your spirit and turned you into a shell of what you used to be. But he can't do that to her, no matter how hard he tries. As long as she's got Doc and Angel and the rest of us, the bastard can't break her. You gave that up, Sally, but she embraced it."
"If you love her, Sally, you'll let her go when the times comes."
"Please, Mom..."
"Flo!" Sally called, voice cracking.
"Yeah, hon?" Flo asked, all-but slinking over. She was just as aware of what was happening as the rest of the crowd in front of the cafe. She exchanged a slight look with her husband and son behind her, then turned a small, loving smile on Arial.
"I need to borrow a pen," Sally whispered hoarsely.
With a sorrowful smile, Flo placed a pen on the table in front of Sally. Without looking up, the attorney signed her name across the bottom of the papers and pushed them across the table, "Go home, Arial. Doc'll be worried about you."
Arial smiled bitterly and, shoving the papers into her back pocket for safe keeping, ran out of the V8. She didn't stop until she burst through the doors of Doc Hudson's house and fell into his arms crying.
Sally fell onto her bed and buried her face in her pillow. Dozens of memories flashed through her mind, unbidden, unwanted. Her hand drifted up to her shoulder, to the tattoo hidden under her shirt.
"Momma, what's that on your shoulder?"
Sally smiled at the five year old girl sitting on her bed, "Not now, Arial. Maybe when you're older."
"I thought I'd finally gotten rid of all my devils," she whispered, letting her eyes drift closed, "I'm glad you found your angel…"
"Lightnin'! C'mon, Blue Lightnin', we're gonna miss the race!"
"Calm down, Boost! I'm comin'!"
Arial. Sixteen years old. A girl with messy red hair, purple streaks, bright blue eyes, a troublemaker's smile, her father's racing jacket and Mater at her side.
Angel. Twenty. Tall and dark skinned, dark haired, an ugly black eye and a mischievous smile.
A gang of boys, laughing and shouting, streaks of neon in their hair and a lightning bolt emblem on their jackets.
"Hey! Rookie!" A young man with straw colored hair and a wolfish smile, "Ready to have your bumper handed to ya?"
"I'd love to see ya try, Prince."
"Are you two at it again?" Black hair, pale skin, a loving smile and his father's name. "Can't we get through one race without you two trying to kill each other?"
"Give it up, Thunder! They can't live without fighting." Strip Weathers, The King, a few years older with a laughing Junior at his side.
Arial playing her harp in the V8, a boy with blue and black hair playing a violin next to her, dozens of people crowded in around them.
A familiar old racing trailer. Fillmore, Sarge, and Arial all sitting in a circle, more concerned with trying to sneak a pretzel from the pot than concentrating on their poker game.
Explosions, shouting. An impossible image of Lightning and Arial sitting together on Willy's Butte watching the sunrise. Arial sitting up in a hospital bed, Doc sleeping with his head and arms rested on the bed. Angel and Mater leaning in the doorway.
Four boys standing in a half-circle around a livid Arial, looking thoroughly stunned and confused and more than a little ashamed.
Sarge chasing Arial around the V8, trying and failing to retrieve an old-fashioned camera from her while Flo and her customers laugh.
Arial kneeling in front of a pair of graves, one old and one fresh.
Gunshots. Screaming. Another hospital. Arial with her head nestled in the crook of her arm, tears on her face. Angel and several other boys guarding the doorway against television reporters.
A painting hanging on a wall. Three race cars with their owners leaning against them. Three faces, three sets of stunning blue eyes emblazoned in the sky above. A bronze plate below it with the words "Fast Cars and Freedom" etched into it.
Somewhere, a radio began to play.
You feel like a candle in a hurricane
Just like a picture with a broken frame
Alone and helpless like you've lost your fight
But you'll be alright, you'll be alright
Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend 'til you break
Cause it's all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand, then you stand
Life's like a novel with the end ripped out
The edge of canyon with only one way down
Take what you're given before it's gone
And start holdin' on, keep holdin' on
Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend 'til you break
Cause it's all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand, then you stand
Every time you get up and get back in the race
One more small piece of you starts to fall into place – yeah